


Expecting

by loves_books



Series: Impregnable [5]
Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Body Modification, C-Section, Fluff, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Medical Procedures, Mpreg, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Romance, Surgery, caesarean section
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-04-16 21:34:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 17,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14173881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: “Just so y’know, John, if I could do that for you, for us, then I would. In a heartbeat.”If Hannibal had asked, Face would have said yes.





	1. Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> Try as I might, I can't seem to move away from this particular 'verse, and this will make absolutely no sense if you haven't already read the earlier stories in this series. There is a true sequel to 'Justification' in progress, but I've also found myself writing little snippets of what might have happened if Hannibal had just asked Face about the experiment, so please consider this an alternative rather than a sequel. 
> 
> I have chosen not to use archive warnings again and I think I've tagged for every part I've written so far, but I may need to add to these tags as I go along - so far I've written 15 moments for our boys, but I've got ideas for another 10-15. I'll flag any changes or additions up at the beginning of any new chapters.

Face drifts in and out of a restless sleep, his head throbbing and his entire body in agony as his heart thunders painfully beneath his breast. Eight long months of confinement so far, and the weight of his hugely swollen stomach and the constant kicking from deep within are making it impossible for him to get any true rest, no matter how hard he tries to find a comfortable position for his abused body. 

If he lays on his back, he can’t breathe. If he lays on his side, it hurts his spine and sends stabbing pains through his hips. Lying on his front, his preferred sleeping position before this hell began, ceased to be an option months ago. And however he settles, the _thing_ stretching his stomach beyond all recognition kicks merrily away at his bladder and his prostate and his kidneys, trying her hardest to rearrange his internal organs a little bit more than she already has. 

Eight long months, and it can’t be over soon enough. Frankly, if he could cut her from his body right this very second, then he would. But the doctors say everything is fine. The doctors say he only has a few weeks left to go. 

Face wonders, somewhat hysterically, if he can possibly hold on that long.

He also can’t help but wonder if Hannibal had ever even thought of asking his permission.

Things could have been so very different. If Hannibal had asked, Face would have done anything and everything for the man he loved. He’d done the seemingly impossible for him before. Admittedly, it would have been quite a leap from procuring a pink jeep in the middle of the desert with an hour’s notice to carrying a squirming baby within his body for nine agonising months, but if Hannibal had asked…

If Hannibal had asked, Face would have said yes.


	2. Offering

It isn’t often the two Rangers find themselves attending a baby shower, but that’s exactly what happens one Sunday afternoon in May. They are the only two men in attendance, and they’re both doing their very best to fit in, though of course Face seems to be doing a far better job than Hannibal is. 

“You boys having a good time?” Sergeant Tracy Pullman, eight months pregnant and somehow still glowing, gently elbows Hannibal in the ribs. “I’m so glad you could come.”

“We’re honoured to be invited,” Hannibal replies, leaning down to peck a soft kiss to her cheek. 

Tracy smiles as she caresses the swell of her stomach with both hands. “It was the least I could do after the two of you saved our lives like that.” A nasty car crash in torrential rain, Hannibal and Face able to get Tracy and her bump to safety just in time before a lorry spun out of control and smashed into her vehicle. “You’re our two heroes.”

“Just don’t name the baby after either of us, okay?” 

Face suddenly appears at Hannibal’s elbow just in time to catch his last comment. “Are you kidding, boss?” he gasps dramatically. “’Templeton’ is a wonderful name for a boy. Don’t you agree, Tracy?”

Just at that moment, one of Tracy’s friends calls to her from across the room, saving her the difficulty of finding a diplomatic response as she turns away with a smile, leaving Hannibal with Face. Face has clearly entered thoroughly into the spirit of the party and is wearing a silver plastic tiara along with a pink feather boa. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are shining, and Hannibal has never been so much in love in his life.

He can’t kiss Face, though. Not here. “Enjoying yourself?” he asks instead, and Face just grins at him, threading one arm through Hannibal’s to pull them close together.

“You bet I am. A whole room full of hot women, what’s not to love?” Face throws a wink at Hannibal, letting him know that he’s just playing up to his reputation, though of course Hannibal already knows that. They’ve only been together romantically for a year, but he knows Face inside out, and trusts his boy implicitly. 

Face is warm and strong by his side, bright blue eyes shining with happiness and love, and Hannibal wants nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with this incredible man, raising a family of their own. Perhaps it’s far too soon to ask the question – a single year of love is not long, after all, even if they have known each other for more than a decade – but the words slip out nonetheless.

“Do you ever think about this?” he asks, and Face tilts his head a little in response, curious. “A family,” Hannibal clarifies quietly. “Children. _Our_ children, specifically.”

Face blinks at him, and for a moment Hannibal holds his breath. Then, so softly Hannibal has to strain to hear – “Yes. I think about that. I want us to have children, I want everything, so long as it’s all with you.”

Hannibal suddenly wants to kiss Face so much it almost hurts, but he settles for squeezing his boy’s hand where it rests on his arm, feeling a wide smile split his face. “Okay, then.”

“Okay.” Face’s eyes are suspiciously damp as he smiles back, then glances across the room to where Tracy is now sitting in a circle of her giggling girlfriends, her heavily pregnant belly even more prominent now. “Just so y’know, John, if I could do that for you, for us, then I would. In a heartbeat.”

The offer nearly takes Hannibal’s breath away entirely. The thought of Face carrying his baby, stomach beautifully swollen with their child, is a beautiful image and something Hannibal never knew he could want. It isn’t possible, of course, but there is adoption or fostering, or even surrogacy.

Marriage first, though. Hannibal is an old-fashioned romantic at heart, and he suspects Face is too.

“We’ve got a lot to talk about, haven’t we, sweetheart?” he whispers, and Face squeezes his arm one more time before pulling away.

“Come on. They’re about to start playing ‘guess the flavour of the baby food’.”

Hannibal can’t think of anything worse, but he follows Face in his tiara regardless, just as he always will.


	3. Asking

“Why would you even ask me this?” Face is pacing in increasingly wide circles, one hand running repeatedly through his already messy hair while the other waves about in the air, and Hannibal is growing dizzy just watching him. “Why would you even – ?”

“Face, baby, please sit down.” 

But rather than sitting, Face slams to a sudden stop in front of Hannibal’s chair and gasps in horror. “You wish I was a woman, is that it?” 

“Sweetheart, no – ”

“All that agonising about whether you were really gay or just confused, all those nights we spent endlessly talking about things before you would even kiss me.” Face buries both hands in his hair, shaking his head. “After all that, you still want to be with a woman? No, worse: you want me to have a sex change?”

Hannibal pushes to his feet and reaches out to lay his hands on Face’s shoulders, already regretting bringing up the subject at all. He should have known how Face might react. Should have explained himself better. “Templeton, stop. Breathe. That’s not it. That’s not it at all.” 

“Then what is it?” There are tears in Face’s eyes now, and his bottom lip is trembling ever so slightly, though Hannibal takes some solace in the fact that his lover isn’t trying to pull away from him. “I don’t understand, John. I don’t know what you want from me right now.”

“I can explain some of it, though I don’t even pretend to understand all the science. It’s an experiment, and they’re using my sperm and I just thought…” Hannibal dares to press a quick, reassuring kiss to Face’s forehead. “We’ve spoken about having a family one day. About raising children together. This is an unexpected option, and I thought we should talk about it. No pressure, no expectations, just a conversation.”

Face is practically vibrating with tension. “No pressure?” He huffs a laugh that sounds more painful than amused, and his hands tighten into fists in his hair as he squeezes his eyes shut. “You want _us_ to have a conversation about _me_ having surgery so I can get pregnant with _your_ baby?” 

When it’s put that way, Hannibal can absolutely understand why Face is so upset. He’s been such an idiot. He kisses his boy again and again, apologetically, once on the forehead, then on the temple, the cheek, and finally on those pouting lips. “If it’s not something you want, then we forget all about it,” he tells Face softly, choosing his words very carefully. “I never meant to upset you, and I’m so sorry if I’ve hurt you. I love you so very much, just the way you are, and I never want to change you, not in any way. You are absolutely perfect to me.”

For a long moment there is no reaction whatsoever, Face standing stock still in his arms with eyes still tightly closed, and Hannibal feels his chest tighten painfully as he realises he may have just ruined the best thing that has ever happened to him. If Face can’t forgive him, if Face ends their relationship entirely… 

Then, finally, a shaky breath and a whispered question.

“So, you don’t wish I was a woman?” Face cracks his beautiful baby blue eyes open, the hint of tears gone though the hurt is still clearly visibly.

“Never,” Hannibal vows immediately.

“And, this surgery, it isn’t permanent?”

That question alone is more than Hannibal could have hoped for after Face’s initial horrified reaction, and he takes his time before answering. “Not in any way. It’s a temporary transplant, as I understand it.” 

Face slowly loosens the grip his still has on his own hair, though he doesn’t lower his hands. “And you just want to talk about it? To meet with these doctors, to see if I’m even a suitable candidate?”

“Just a meeting. A conversation. I won’t even let them run any tests, not if you aren’t interested after hearing what they have to say. I promise.” Face is a Ranger, of course: Hannibal knows that no doctor could run tests on Face if Face didn’t want them done, not without using brute force or powerful drugs, but his lover still visibly relaxes a fraction at his words. “And we would need to talk about this in a lot more detail first. The two of us, I mean. It would be a huge lifestyle change, if we do eventually decide to participate. Having a baby.”

They’ve talked about children in the abstract. About adoption or surrogacy, in the next five years or so. About retirement for Hannibal and a stateside transfer for Face, about buying a house together off-base, about getting married. These are things they both agree they want, though they’ve also both agreed that it’s too soon for any of it. They still have career ambitions within the Rangers, and they’ve only been together romantically for a year, though they’ve known each other for more than a decade.

Maybe it really is too soon.

What is Hannibal even thinking?

But, then.

“A baby?” Face suddenly smiles tentatively, eyes shining with unshed tears once more. “We could have a baby?”

Hannibal finds himself smiling back, the knot in his chest loosening at last. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he cautions, suddenly feeling a little choked up at the whole idea. “First, we set up a meeting with the doctors, and we hear what they have to say. One step at a time.”

“Baby steps, you could say?” Face immediately cracks up at his own joke, his arms wrapping tightly around Hannibal’s shoulders as they fall into each other’s arms at last.


	4. Proposing

“You’re just an old-fashioned gentleman at heart, aren’t you, John?”

“I can’t help the way I was raised, Templeton.”

“First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the experimental surgery, artificially implanted uterus and lab-grown embryo?”

“No, then comes the baby. Our baby. But not before I put a ring on your finger first, sweetheart.”


	5. Operating

Hannibal is fighting the urge to start pacing the length of the waiting room, knowing he has to stay calm for Face, who is sitting and leaning casually against his side, head on Hannibal’s shoulder. After so many months of meetings and discussions and tests and scans, after rearranging their entire lives and careers, the day they’ve both been looking forward to is finally here. And Hannibal is suddenly terrified that they’ve made the wrong decision.

What if something goes wrong with the surgery? It’s an experimental procedure after all. What if he loses Face?

“That’s it.” Hannibal stands abruptly, nearly toppling Face to the floor. “I can’t go through with this. We’ll adopt. I’m not risking you.”

“John, calm down.” Face’s steady hands come to rest on his shoulders, turning Hannibal until they stand face to face. “It’ll all be okay. We’ve been through this over and over again. The doctors know what they’re doing. I’ll be in good hands, and everything will work out just fine, I promise.”

“You can’t know that. You can’t promise me…” Hannibal’s throat closes up and he prepares to throw Face over his shoulder and carry him out of the clinic if he has to, but his new husband silences his protests with a tender kiss, heedless of anyone who might be watching.

When the kiss ends, Face cups Hannibal’s cheek gently in one hand, smiling up at him with shining blue eyes. “I’ll be fine,” he whispers, and Hannibal finds himself nodding, comforted by Face’s confidence.

He takes a deep breath, wrapping his arms around Face’s slender waist – it won’t be slender for long, of course, not if everything goes well today – and squeezing tightly. “I love you.”

“And I love you too.”

The sound of voices outside the waiting room makes them step apart instinctively, though the doctors here know about their relationship and their recent marriage. DADT doesn’t seem to apply within the walls of the clinic, something Hannibal gives thanks for each and every day, but after years of hiding their love it’s a hard habit to break.

A soft knock, then the door swings open to reveal their lead surgeon ready in his blue scrubs, surgical mask loose around his neck. “Colonel Smith, Lieutenant Peck.” He nods a greeting to them both, and Hannibal again swallows down the urge to snatch Face and run, forcing himself to nod in return. “I mean Hannibal, Face. Today’s the big day. Are we all ready?”

“You’re sure this is safe?” Hannibal blurts out. “You don’t need more time? More testing?”

Face elbows him hard in the ribs. “John, what did we just talk about?”

“I’m sorry, I just – ”

The surgeon actually huffs a laugh, gesturing for them both to take a seat and settling opposite them. “Last minute nerves are entirely understandable,” he says calmly, before focussing on Face, all professionalism now. “The latest test results have been nothing but positive, and the scans we ran on you yesterday, Face, show that you are in perfect health. Years of research has gone into this moment. We are fully prepared for the procedure and, while there are never any guarantees, I am as confident as I can be that everything will run smoothly.”

“I’m ready,” Face says before Hannibal can even open his mouth. “I trust you and your team. And I can’t wait to get started.”

“Then shall we get you settled in a room?” The surgeon stands, gesturing towards the door, and Hannibal’s legs turn to jello as Face also stands.

Something suddenly occurs to him. “Wait, what about the anaesthetic?” 

“We’ve spoken about this, Hannibal, remember?” The surgeon speaks over his shoulder, his voice steady and reassuring, though he is already ushering Face from the room as if sensing Hannibal’s desire to snatch him back. “The anaesthetist has had full access to all of Face’s medical records, and we’re well aware of his history with anaesthetics. We’ll be using a drug that has given Face no problems at all in the past. Please try not to worry.”

“I won’t feel a thing, John.” Face pauses in the doorway, offering Hannibal a wide grin, though Hannibal can see the barely concealed nerves beneath the bravado. “See you on the other side, okay?”

“Wait.” Hannibal finally manages to stand on his shaky legs, and the surgeon turns tactfully away as he pulls Face into a fierce embrace, his throat closing up as he tries to speak. 

Face hugs him back, and Hannibal can feel his lover trembling slightly, though Face is the one to step back this time, detaching Hannibal’s arms determinedly from around his shoulders. “I’ll see you soon,” he whispers, and Hannibal can only nod as the surgeon leads Face away from him.


	6. Nauseating

Hannibal can hear the awful sounds coming from behind the bathroom door, and his heart aches for his husband even as his own stomach twists in sympathy. He’s torn between rushing to Face’s side to offer what little comfort he can, and keeping his distance to allow Face some dignity. The fact that the bathroom door has been firmly closed, in spite of the speed with which Face disappeared from the breakfast table, suggests the latter may be more welcome, but a pitiful groan makes up his mind in a heartbeat.

“Face?” With a gentle tap on the door, Hannibal pauses for only a second before slipping inside, immediately taking in the sight of his newly pregnant husband on his knees hunched over the toilet, retching helplessly over and over again. “Easy there, sweetheart.”

Face spares him a single glare, watery blue eyes filled with a venom that startles Hannibal, before diving back over the bowl. One hand is braced on the floor and the other against the cistern as Face’s body contracts once again, strong back arching and every muscle tense as he purges the contents of his stomach, though Hannibal can’t help but wonder if there is anything left at this point.

Heading for the sink and snatching up a washcloth, he lets the cold tap run for a few moments before soaking the cloth as thoroughly as he can. Kneeling carefully by Face’s side, he settles the cool material against the nape of Face’s neck, sweeping the sweat-damp hair out of the way. Face groans softly, a shiver running down his spine, but leans gratefully into Hannibal’s touch. 

“I hate this,” Face manages to gasp, swallowing hard before straining forwards again, coughing up something nasty that Hannibal is glad he can’t see.

In the three weeks since Face’s successful surgery, Hannibal has already learned better than to offer even a hint of sympathy over any pregnancy sickness – Face had actually punched him the first time Hannibal had dared say how sorry he was, leaving a nasty black eye that was still fading, though Face had been horrified and immediately apologetic, blaming the hormone implants. 

Instead, Hannibal slips a hand around Face’s waist, taking some of his husband’s weight and rubbing gently over the spasming stomach muscles, careful to avoid the dressing still taped in place over the healing stitches lower on his belly.

“What was it this time?” he asks gently when Face pauses to catch his breath. 

Face gags once, twice, before managing to answer. “Toast, I think. Not sure.” 

Hannibal winces in unspoken sympathy, flipping the washcloth over before pressing the cooler side back against Face’s heated skin. The list of foods that upset Face’s stomach is rapidly growing too long to keep track of easily, the combination of hormones, anti-rejection medication and a brand new implanted pregnancy all messing with his husband’s system even more than the doctors had anticipated.

“Just cereal from now on,” Hannibal vows, leaning closer to press a reassuring kiss to Face’s temple, only to pull back when Face shakes his head violently.

“Bad idea.” Face gags again but succeeds in not throwing up this time. “Milk. Not good.”

“Okay, sweetheart. No milk, no toast.”

“And no coffee, tea, orange juice, fresh fruit.” Face slumps sideways into Hannibal’s hold with a tired sigh as he reaches one shaky hand up to flush the toilet, this round of sickness apparently over for the time being. “No cheese. No pasta. No chocolate.”

Hannibal hadn’t known about the chocolate, so he adds that to his mental list, sliding the washcloth round to pat at Face’s forehead as he cuddles his husband closer. In a moment he’ll help Face stand, then steady his hand as he brushes his teeth before helping him into the shower – they’re both still in their sleep clothes, and the day has barely started, yet Hannibal feels exhausted already. He can’t even imagine how Face must feel.

“You want to stay home today?” he asks hesitantly, wishing Face would stay in bed for the day and just catch up on some sleep, having been up twice during the night – the term ‘morning sickness’ is a complete misnomer, they’ve discovered, and poor Face seems to be throwing up morning, noon and night. 

But Face, perhaps predictably, shakes his head. “No, I’d rather keep busy than sit around feeling sorry for myself. I’ll take it easy, though, I promise.” Desk jobs for both of them now, working in planning and intelligence, and Hannibal will be able to check on Face throughout the day at least, even though Face might punch him again if he hovers too obviously.

For now, Hannibal carefully pulls Face a little closer still, feeling strong arms wrap around his waist in return as Face settles his head on Hannibal’s shoulder, his breath warm and reassuring against Hannibal’s chest. “This little one is certainly making their presence felt already, huh?” he chuckles softly, rubbing gentle circles over Face’s still-flat stomach, marvelling at the thought of their child growing beneath the skin there. They’ve chosen not to find out if it’s a girl or a boy, though of course the doctors are certainly aware.

“No surprises there. It’s your child, after all.” Face presses his own hand flat over Hannibal’s on his belly, laughing once before clarifying, “Any offspring of yours is bound to be the world’s biggest attention seeker.”


	7. Confirming

“I feel incredibly exposed here.” Face squirms yet again in the examination chair, and Hannibal drops a hand gently onto his shoulder to settle him, squeezing reassuringly. “This is crazy. I’ve been in far stranger positions, but…”

“It’ll be worth it,” Hannibal says, leaning down to drop a kiss on Face’s forehead. “And I’m right here with you.”

Face is right, of course, and they’ve both been in far more exposed positions, but given Face’s condition Hannibal can absolutely understand his feelings of vulnerability. Face is lying almost completely flat, only the head of the chair raised slightly, with his shirt unbuttoned and open wide. The top button of his jeans is also undone, leaving his toned stomach and chest bared to the room – the temperature is comfortably warm, thankfully, but Hannibal can see the goose-bumps rising on Face’s skin nonetheless.

Hannibal’s own protective instincts had kicked into overdrive the moment they stepped back inside the clinic, and he knows there is no force on earth that could pull him away from his husband and their unborn baby right now.

Their doctor chooses that moment to enter the room, greeting them both with a smile and a nod as she moves quickly over to their side. “Good morning to you both. Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

“The sooner the better.” Face shifts his hips again, a slight wince passing over his handsome features. “I really, really need to piss.”

The doctor laughs softly, readying her equipment. “That’s good,” she tells Face. “That means we should get a nice clear picture here. We’ll take a break after the scan so you can get comfortable before we move on to the rest of the examination.”

Hannibal’s grip on Face’s shoulder tightens slightly, almost instinctively, his heart racing with anticipation and adrenaline. This will become a weekly event as the experiment continues, but this is their first ultrasound scan since the surgical implantation a month ago. The first time they will see their tiny baby and hopefully hear their heart beating. The first time they will know for sure if the experimental procedure has been successful so far, though Face’s continued pregnancy sickness – to call it ‘morning sickness’ would be to make light of the hell Face has been suffering on a daily basis – strongly suggests a positive result.

A clear gel is squeezed onto Face’s lower belly, just above the fresh scar from the operation, before the doctor immediately lowers the scanner onto Face’s skin, moving it around slowly and pressing down slightly as she presses a series of buttons on the attached screen.

Hannibal keeps his focus entirely on Face as his husband closes his eyes with a shaky sigh, brushing his free hand calmingly through caramel curls. “You doing okay?” he asks softly, fully prepared to stop the doctor if something is wrong, but Face nods.

“Doesn’t hurt,” Face reassures him. “Just feels a bit weird. And I really do need the bathroom.”

Hannibal is about to attempt a joke or two to lighten the atmosphere, when suddenly a strange rushing, thumping sound fills the room. Face opens his eyes with a gasp, lifting his head from the pillow to stare at their smiling doctor as she adjusts the angle of the screen so they can both see.

“There we go,” she says, almost triumphantly, slowly turning a dial until the thumping grows louder still.

“Is that…?” The blurry grey mass on the screen looks more like a tadpole than a baby, not that Hannibal would dare admit that, but that rhythmic sound can only be one thing. “Oh god… That’s…”

The doctor’s smile grows wider still, glancing up at them both. “That’s your baby,” she confirms, keeping the scanner pressed into position over Face’s lower stomach. “That’s the confirmation we were looking for. Everything looks good, and it certainly sounds good too.”

Face’s hand suddenly finds Hannibal’s, squeezing desperately, and Hannibal looks down to find tears streaming down his husband’s face as he stares unblinkingly at the screen, mouth hanging wide open in a surprised grin. Hannibal’s own eyes feel suspiciously damp as the sound of their child’s rapidly beating heart continues to fill the air. He can barely believe this is really happening for them.

Suddenly, this all seems too real.

He leans down to kiss Face tenderly on the lips, tasting the salt from his husband’s tears of happiness. “You’re incredible,” he whispers, his voice coming out far more choked than he’d expected as his eyes are drawn helplessly back to the screen. “Thank you so much for this.”

“Thank you for asking me,” Face whispers back. “Look, John. Look what you did.”

“No, sweetheart. Look what _we_ did.”


	8. Showing

“Hannibal!”

Face’s cry rings loudly through the early morning quiet of their house, and Hannibal’s heart immediately begins to race as he sprints up the stairs towards their bedroom, mind filling with a thousand horrific images of what might await him there. He’d left Face sleeping peacefully, determined to bring him breakfast in bed to celebrate their first full weekend off together in months, but now…

“I’m here, Face.” Bursting into the room, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process, Hannibal slams to a stop in the doorway when he sees his husband standing calmly in front of the full-length mirror, wearing only a loose pair of boxer shorts that sit low on his hips. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? What’s happened?”

There’s no blood, thank goodness, and no obvious sign of illness or miscarriage, which was Hannibal’s first and greatest fear. Face’s pregnancy sickness has been a little easier lately, and they’ve finally figured out a range of foods he can keep down, though he’s been dizzy and achy as his body struggles to adjust to a pregnancy it was never designed to carry. 

“Look,” Face whispers, hands placed delicately on his hips as he bits his lower lip nervously, meeting Hannibal’s eyes in the reflection. “Can you see?”

Hannibal takes a cautious step closer, then another, until he is standing directly behind Face. His heart is still racing, but Face seems so calm. For a long moment he can’t see it, whatever _it_ is, but then Face shifts his hips slightly, turning to one side, and – 

“Oh,” he breathes, pressing his chest to Face’s back as he brings his hands around to rest carefully on the tiny bump that has appeared overnight. “Well, that came out of nowhere.” 

“I know, right? I finally popped, just like the docs said I would.” Face places his own hands over Hannibal’s, dropping his head back to rest on Hannibal’s shoulder, and together they stand there smiling at each other, holding the swell of their baby. 

The bump is still small, so small that Hannibal could probably cup the entire expanse in one of his huge hands, but the skin of Face’s stomach is warm and taut as it bulges out beneath Hannibal’s reverent touch. This is the first actual physical evidence they have that there is really a baby growing in there, nestled safely within Face’s body, beyond a little bloating and some swollen ankles.

“No stretch marks,” Hannibal whispers, somewhat awed, and Face huffs a slightly teary laugh as his bright blue eyes start to well up. 

“No six-pack either,” he points out, and it’s true, the muscle definition Face has always worked so hard for has disappeared, quite literally in the blink of an eye. “There goes my figure.”

Hannibal strokes his thumbs gently over the bump, dipping his head to press a lingering kiss to the racing pulse in Face’s throat. “You are so incredibly beautiful,” he tells his husband firmly, startling another laugh from Face though a single tear slips down Face’s cheek at the same time. “Please don’t cry, sweetheart.” Hannibal kisses him again, and again, thankful that Face is still smiling through his tears.

“I’m not crying,” Face tells Hannibal weakly, as another tear slips free. “Seriously, I couldn’t care less about my figure, not when we’re really going to have a baby. Am I allowed to blame the hormones yet?”

“Of course you can.” Implants, pills, and injections – Hannibal strongly suspects he would be a sobbing mess if he was the one carrying their baby, and frankly he’s amazed at how well Face is coping so far.

He can already tell that he’s going to find it hard to stop touching Face’s beautiful bump. It’s as if there is some sort of magnetic pull, as if Face has become the centre of his entire world, gravity tugging his hands into position over the small yet perfectly formed swell.

Face doesn’t seem inclined to move either, thankfully, and they stand there together smiling into the mirror, tears rolling slowly down Face’s cheeks, hands tangled together cupping Face’s stomach and swaying gently together.


	9. Revealing

Neither Murdock nor BA have said anything for nearly five minutes, and Hannibal is starting to feel more than a little uncomfortable. Strange, he hadn’t been worried until now. Two sets of eyes, one blue and one brown, are staring unblinkingly at Face from the opposite sofa, and two mouths are hanging as wide open as Hannibal has ever seen them.

Murdock recovers first, after another few painful minutes of silence, visibly shaking himself as, in a heartbeat, his gawp turns into a huge grin. “Congratulations, you two! I mean, you three!” 

“Thanks, man.” Face ducks his head slightly, oddly shy as he sits closely against Hannibal’s side, Hannibal’s arm tight around his shoulders. Hannibal knows just how nervous his husband has been about this moment, with both their former teammates away on missions until just yesterday. “We wanted you both to know as soon as we could be sure things were okay, and I’m beyond the first trimester now so it’s safer. Though it’s all classified, obviously.”

“It might be classified, Faceman, but it ain’t gonna stay secret for too much longer.” BA points one meaty finger at the baby bump, which is very visible in Face’s seated position, his dark face inscrutable and his voice very soft. Hannibal can’t tell what he’s thinking. “That gut you’ve got growing is definitely not a typical beer belly. People are gonna talk.”

“Then let them talk,” Face replies calmly before Hannibal can even open his mouth. “Let them assume whatever the hell they want, and let them call me all the names under the sun. It’s no one’s business but ours. Besides, I’m wearing loose clothes at work, and I’ll be down to working part time soon anyway.”

‘Part time’ can’t come soon enough for Hannibal, and recently he’s actually been fighting the instinctive urge to force Face to quit work entirely, knowing Face wouldn’t thank him for his overprotectiveness. Face is hiding it well in front of their friends, but Hannibal knows he’s been struggling a lot with the pregnancy over the last few weeks, battling a perpetual exhaustion and in constant pain from his hips and his back, weepy and oddly clingy as the hormones kick into overdrive.

But their not-so-little bump continues to grow bigger by the day, and the doctors say all is well.

“Do you know what it is?” Murdock’s grin has somehow grown wider still, hands twitching as if he wants to reach out and grab at Face’s belly. Hannibal is immensely glad the pilot is restraining himself for now, as he’s feeling even more overprotective than he’d expected, and also still very aware of how nervous Face is about their friends’ reactions, in spite of how well he seems to be hiding it. “Boy? Girl? Twins? Ooh, are they gonna call you Mom, Face?”

Face laughs, sitting up a little straighter though he keeps one hand resting on Hannibal’s knee, the other rubbing a gentle circle over his bump. “No, I’m going to be Dad, and Hannibal’s going to be Papa. And it’s definitely just the one, though we don’t know the gender. We’re keeping it a surprise, even though I keep thinking of her as a ‘she’.” He pauses, glancing over to BA who has gone back to staring open-mouthed. “What are you thinking, big guy? Too strange for you?”

BA shakes his head slowly, running one hand back through his hair. “Just when I thought I’d seen everything…” he mutters, biting at his lip. “I don’t know, man. This is beyond insane, even for us.”

“It’s a baby, Bosco,” Hannibal says quietly, watching the big sergeant carefully while Face tenses up again under his arm. They’d hoped Murdock would go along with the whole thing easily enough, expecting a thousand and one questions from the excitable pilot, but BA’s reaction had always been less predictable. “We’re having a baby, like a lot of married couples do. It’s an unusual way to go about it for two guys, I admit – ” 

“I love babies.” Something seems to click into place with Hannibal’s words, and BA suddenly smiles a little, his broad shoulders relaxing fractionally as he sinks back into the sofa. “And ‘unusual’ is certainly one word for this whole thing, but damn it all to hell, you two never go about things the easy way, do you?” He shakes his head again. “Honestly? I think I’d be more surprised if you just said you were gonna adopt.”

“You’re gonna be great daddies,” Murdock tells them, with real feeling in his voice, and Hannibal’s heart swells with pride even as his stomach churns with sudden nerves. They’ll certainly do their best, though he’s sure they’ll make more than their fair share of mistakes along the way.

BA nods his agreement, his smile growing wider and more certain, and Hannibal heaves a mental sigh of relief at knowing Face will have the full support of their brothers. “Yeah, you really will be. The kid’ll be lucky to have you, both of you.” He pauses, elbowing Murdock. “And we’ll be great uncles, if you’ll have us.”

“Actually…” Face glances sideways at Hannibal as if asking permission, though they’ve already discussed this. Instead of answering him, Hannibal just leans over and presses a quick kiss of reassurance to his cheek. “Actually, we were hoping you’d both agree to be Godfathers.”

Silence again, but this time Hannibal isn’t worried at all as he watches these two remarkable men, their two best friends. Two of the toughest Rangers he’s ever known both swallow hard, eyes growing visibly a little damp, and this time it’s BA who manages to recover first, speaking for both himself and Murdock. 

“We’d be honoured, brother.”


	10. Craving

On the surface of things, Hannibal figures it could have been worse. Last week Face had merrily tucked into a large plate of mashed potatoes covered in caramel sauce, while the week before he’d experimentally smeared some strawberry jam on his breakfast sausages and proclaimed them utterly delicious. Thankfully neither combination has made a reappearance yet, and Hannibal doesn’t dare mention either just in case.

At least Face is eating, Hannibal tells himself. _Any_ food has to be good food after so many months of unpredictable pregnancy sickness. The doctors certainly seem delighted and not at all concerned, telling Face to give in to any cravings he feels, within reason.

Face’s craving for ice cubes does seem to be here to stay, but they are easy enough to provide and at least it doesn’t upset Hannibal’s own stomach to watch Face crunching his way contentedly through an entire bowlful, even if it does make him shiver in sympathy. 

Who would’ve thought it would be _guacamole_ that might be Hannibal’s downfall?

“It has to be fresh,” Face had explained, busy over his production line one Sunday afternoon, with heaps of fresh chillies, tomatoes and onions next to a truly mountainous pile of avocados. “I don’t even know why, it just does.”

Easy enough, until Face had made and eaten three entire mixing bowls full of the stuff for dinner, and still craved more, begging Hannibal to find the ingredients for him. Easy enough, until it turned out their local shop had run out of avocados, and it was nearly midnight. 

“What do you mean they’ve run out?” Face’s absolute horror rings out loud and clear over Hannibal’s cellphone when he nervously calls to report the news. “They can’t have run out. Did you ask them? They have to have some out back, surely?”

“They’ve definitely run out, sweetheart, I did ask.” Hannibal bites his tongue to avoid pointing out to Face that they’d bought the last of their stock themselves yesterday. He hesitates before suggesting, “They have got ready-made guacamole, though, if you like?”

Just as Hannibal expects, Face doesn’t even dignify that offer with a response, though the desperation in his voice is clear when he asks, “What about Al’s Whole Foods?”

“They close at ten.”

“The fruit market?”

“Closed at seven.”

“John, I need…” There’s a ragged breath over the line that sounds to Hannibal as if his husband might burst into tears at any moment. And that simply won’t do. “Please, there has to be…”

“I’m heading over to the next town,” he tells Face immediately, desperate to keep his husband happy if at all possible. “There are at least three shops that might have some and should still be open. Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

This? This is the time where all those years of planning and improvising in the Rangers come to the fore. This is where Hannibal can excel. 

Mission: Avocado will be a success, even if takes all night.


	11. Glowing

It was just one of those myths Hannibal hadn’t paid much attention to, until suddenly it becomes very obvious and very true, a few weeks into Face’s second trimester.

Face is positively glowing. Hannibal can only imagine how uncomfortable Face must be feeling as his pregnancy advances steadily and his stomach swells ever outwards, but his husband’s skin is clear and rosy, his hair full and curlier than usual. 

Face is carrying himself and his growing bump confidently, his smile contented and his eyes shining brightly.

Face is utterly beautiful, both inside and out, and he takes Hannibal’s breath away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100 words exactly, a personal challenge and success!


	12. Moving

When Face stops in the very middle of the kitchen, cupping his hands over his bump gently and smiling a private smile that lights up his entire face, Hannibal tries not to feel an overwhelming sense of jealousy; Face has been able to feel their baby moving for the last week or so, describing it as a faint rumbling deep in his stomach rather than any true sense of kicking yet.

“C’mere,” Face whispers to Hannibal, beckoning wildly, and Hannibal obediently shuffles to his husband’s side, holding out his hand and letting Face take it and slide it under his shirt to press it against one side of the bump, close to Face’s freshly popped-out navel. “She’s really rolling around in there. Maybe this time?”

Nothing. Face’s skin is warm and smooth, thanks in no small part to the body butters Hannibal is taking great pleasure in massaging in each and every day, but Hannibal can’t feel any movement apart from Face’s steady breathing. 

“I think it’s still too soon for me,” he tells a clearly disappointed Face, though he swings his other hand around as well to cup the lower side of the bump, just in case. It’s no hardship at all to be so close to his pregnant husband. “Does it hurt you in any way?”

Face shakes his head. “No, it just feels very strange. Like I’ve eaten too much. And like I really need… oh, sorry, gotta go.” And just like that, he shrugs apologetically out of Hannibal’s gentle hold and disappears in the direction of the bathroom, something that has been happening with increasing frequency as the pregnancy progresses.

Another week passes, then two, three, and Hannibal grows used to Face grabbing his hands at odd times of the day and guiding them quickly into position over the swell of their baby. Still nothing. They sit side by side on the sofa with one of Hannibal’s hands tucked under Face’s shirt, just in case. They fall asleep with Face lying on his left side and Hannibal wrapped around him from behind, both hands holding the bump tenderly.

Nothing.

Hannibal wakes one morning long before the alarm goes off, still spooned up close behind a Face who is clearly dead to the world, wondering what had dragged him out of his own exhausted sleep – they’d had a disturbed night, thanks to an unexpected flare-up of Face’s pregnancy sickness. Too much guacamole, perhaps, Face’s craving still without bounds much to Hannibal’s bemusement.

Then Hannibal suddenly feels it, at last, a vibration beneath the palm of his hand where it lies on the lower curve of Face’s belly. It stops suddenly, then starts again, a little stronger than before. It’s like nothing Hannibal has ever felt before, and his heart leaps into his throat as he realises.

“Hello there, little one,” he whispers, wanting this moment just for the two of them while Face sleeps on, unaware. “I’m your Papa. It’s so good to finally meet you.”


	13. Working

Hannibal always thought he would miss being out in the field. The idea of being stuck at a desk day in and day out, the idea of typing reports and doing filing and sitting in endless meetings, just the very _idea_ of an office job had always filled him with horror. 

It had been a sacrifice he was always willing to make for Face, though. For their family-to-be. And, to his incredible and unending surprise, he really doesn’t hate it at all. Quite the opposite.

Yes, he has an office, but he rarely uses it, preferring to be out on the floor working with his team of tactical planners. Yes, he has reports to write, but he also has a brilliant assistant who takes most of the strain. And yes, there are meetings, but they are usually with other officers who don’t like sitting still any more than Hannibal does, so thankfully they are short and sharp. 

There are no bullets or knives, and yes, Hannibal would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the adrenaline rush he used to get when a plan came together at the exact right moment, but there had also been a lot of sitting around in the field, waiting for things to happen. Now, every day is full to bursting point, with barely time to grab lunch on some days when a time-sensitive plan needs perfecting with only moments to spare.

It’s safe, and steady, and _interesting_ , and it turns out there’s nothing wrong with that at all. It also allows Hannibal to pick up his husband from his own office at eighteen hundred hours every day, and to drive them both back to the house they have finally made into a proper home.

They pick up fresh food on the way home and talk about their days while Hannibal cooks and Face sits resting at the kitchen table. They might take a walk in the evening or just curl up together on the sofa. They’ve changed their minds at least a hundred times on what colour to paint the nursery. They fall asleep in each other’s arms and wake up to do it all over again.

They aren’t working in the same unit, which is probably a good thing, though Hannibal would dearly love to have eyes on Face at all times as Face’s stomach steadily rounds out. A larger size of BDU pants and a looser fitting jacket are concealing the pregnancy so far, and both Hannibal and Face are well-liked and well-respected, so any potential comments have been made far out of earshot of either of them.

The time is coming, though, when Face will need to cut back his hours even further. Already he’s only working half-days, and taking Wednesdays off entirely to spend at the clinic being scanned and prodded by the doctors, with Hannibal glued to his side. 

It’s a life Hannibal never knew he truly wanted but, as the anticipation builds towards the day when their family of two becomes a family of three, Hannibal wouldn’t change it for all the world.


	14. Aching

“Harder. C’mon, Hannibal, put your back into in!”

“I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart. Either of you.”

“You won’t. Harder! And lower, left a bit, oh, yes – fuck, right there – ”

The semi-pornographic noises coming from Face should be illegal, Hannibal fervently believes, as he obediently digs the heels of his hands harder into the bunched muscles either side of his husband’s long spine, sweeping them out across Face’s pelvis. Hannibal has been hard for what feels like hours now, and each groan and gasp that slips from Face’s lips is only making things worse.

He feels like an utter bastard for the fact that this turns him on in any way. Face has been in pain all day, suffering from almost crippling back spasms and what he describes as ‘lightning bolts of fire’ shooting across his hips. Hannibal had been on the verge of suggesting a trip to the clinic when an almost-teary Face had practically begged him for a massage instead.

So now, a shirtless Face is braced against the back of the sofa, feet hip-width apart and leaning slightly forwards so his swollen belly hangs low, a position which also happens to put his delectable ass on perfect display in too-tight shorts as he begs Hannibal to go harder. Faster. Deeper.

Hannibal had always thought he was stronger than this.

Turns out, he’s only a weak-willed man after all.

Beneath his oil-slicked hands, Face’s skin is toasty warm and silky smooth, the scent of lavender and vanilla filling the entire room. The knots in Face’s back are rock-hard and must be agonising, so Hannibal keeps the pressure as constant as he can, trying to ignore the pressure of his cock swelling in his pants.

His own desires are nowhere near being a priority right now. Face is the priority. The only priority. 

“Fuck yes, that’s the spot!” Face groans loudly, dropping his head down and tilting his hips up into Hannibal’s hands, and Hannibal has to bite back his own groan. He _knows_ Face isn’t doing it on purpose. Once upon a time Face would certainly have teased Hannibal like this, but now, uncomfortably pregnant and obviously in pain, it clearly isn’t deliberate. “More, John. Give me more, please! Don’t make me beg!”

Hannibal practically bites his tongue in half at that, sweeping his hands up to Face’s shoulder blades and back down again, dipping out across his hips and down to rub at the sides of the bump as Face practically purrs at his touch. He can feel the weight of their baby rolling around in his husband’s stomach, and can only imagine how much strain Face must be feeling. A good firm massage is the very least Hannibal can do for the man carrying his child.

Another soul-deep groan and a slight yet unintentional wriggle of that perfect backside as Face arches up into his hands, and Hannibal’s cock twitches in its confinement, despite all his innocent intentions.

Hannibal is just a jackass, clearly.


	15. Kicking

“Fuck, she’s really got a kick on her now.” Face actually stops dead in the middle of the path as they take a slow stroll through the park, visibly wincing as he presses one hand to the side of his bump and rubs at his lower back with the other. “Ouch. Playing soccer with my internal organs is not a sport! Or maybe it’s kickboxing, or jujitsu. She’s definitely her Papa’s girl.”

“Or his Papa’s boy,” Hannibal points out with a grin, as he always does, adding his own big hands to rub at his husband’s back as he stands in front of Face. 

Face just shakes his head, pursing his lips and squeezing his eyes shut with another wince. “It’s a girl. Trust me.”

There’s no way that Face can know, of course. Beyond the fact that the baby has Hannibal’s genes, they’ve chosen not to know anything at all about the woman who donated the egg for the experiment, and they’ve been absolutely determined not to find out the gender of their baby, averting their eyes during key moments beneath the ultrasound scanner.

“Mother’s instincts?” Hannibal asks cheekily, shifting his hands around to help support the weight of the bump and immediately feeling – “Oh, goodness, I see what you’re complaining about!” The soft vibrations and distant rumbling he used to be able to feel beneath Face’s skin are long gone, and this is most definitely kicking, violent and almost rhythmic. “Is that an elbow?”

Face leans gratefully into Hannibal’s support. “Could be,” he gasps in answer to both questions, as what might just as easily be a foot suddenly pushes out the skin near his navel right beneath Hannibal’s palm. 

“Gently does it, little one.” Hannibal drops to one knee, not giving a single damn that they’re causing a bit of a scene and drawing a few curious glances from nearby dog walkers. “Go easy on your Mama, there.”

“I’m no one’s Mama.” But Face’s protest is lost in a slightly happier moan as Hannibal slides both hands up under Face’s too-tight shirt and starts to rub soothing circles over the rippling skin of his stomach, trying to soothe their active child. “Fuck, yes. Right there. Shit.”

They’ll have to talk about Face’s language at some point soon, as Hannibal has read that their little girl or boy can actually hear them at this point, but from the strength of the kicks Hannibal feels he can forgive his husband a little cursing.

Those kicks ease off slowly but surely, changing to a more familiar rolling, tumbling movement, and Hannibal stares in fascination as one unidentifiable protuberance travels from one side of Face’s full stomach to the other. He can’t even imagine how it must feel for Face, but he just feels an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the fact that they get to experience this together.

He leans forwards and presses his lips to the mound of his husband’s belly, and Face’s hands slide into his hair, keeping him close, as their son or daughter continues to roll and kick and stretch away happily in their cosy little waterbed.


	16. Needing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that earned this story the 'Pregnant Sex' tag - but I'm not sure if this chapter alone warrants bumping the rating up to 'Explicit' or not? I've decided not to for now, but any comments and thoughts are welcome as always, and I hope any readers are still enjoying this!

“Are you awake, John?” 

Hannibal smiles as he feels a teasing lick to his neck, though he keeps his eyes closed as he replies, “Nope.” He fakes a silly little snore, and Face actually giggles. There’s the click of the bedside light turning on, the soft glow barely visible behind Hannibal’s closed eyelids.

Then, a kiss to his collarbone, and a warm hand stroking down his arm. “You wouldn’t be lying to me now, would you, husband-mine?” Face’s voice is husky, sounding almost breathless, though Hannibal isn’t worried, at least not about Face’s physical health. 

He knows exactly what Face wants. It’s the same thing Face wanted when he woke Hannibal at dawn. The same thing he wanted in the shower before breakfast, then again after lunch, and twice again before they fell asleep. And, truth be told, at this point Hannibal is a little worried about his own role: the spirit is more than willing, always, but the flesh may simply not be capable. Not _again_.

Sadly, he’s not a young man anymore, though he’d shoot anyone who said as much to his face. He’s always struggled a little to keep up with Face’s libido, and advanced pregnancy seems to have kicked said libido into overdrive. Hannibal is fully aware that their baby is sitting heavily on his husband’s bladder and putting pressure on his prostate, leaving Face in a state of near-permanent semi-arousal that is driving him a little insane by his own reluctant admission, but Hannibal is starting to wonder if it’s time to invest in a few little blue pills for himself.

A demanding bite just above his right nipple startles Hannibal into opening his eyes with a gasp. “I would never lie to you, husband-mine,” he replies belatedly, as he looks up at Face kneeling on the bed by his side, cast in soft shadows from the lamp and with a predatory look in those beautiful baby blue eyes Hannibal loves so much. “Well hello there, handsome.”

Face looks utterly glorious, even with the most spectacular bed-head Hannibal has seen in a while. He’s still wearing the faded Rangers t-shirt he’d fallen asleep in earlier, the thin material loose over his shoulders and chest yet stretched tightly over the bulge of his stomach, but Hannibal can’t help noticing that Face seems to have somehow lost his boxer shorts. 

Face smirks at him, one clever hand stroking up and down Hannibal’s arm again as the other reaches down between his own legs to take his hard cock in a loose grip. “Hello, boss,” he says softly, that huskiness growing deeper. “Wondered if you might be able to help me with this little problem I’ve got?”

“Not so little.” Hannibal feels a twitch of his own beneath the sheets as he watches Face stroke himself to full hardness, and any concerns he may have had about his ability to provide what his pregnant husband clearly wants – no, what Face clearly _needs_ – disappear in a heartbeat. “How do you want me this time, sweetheart?”

Face starts tugging at the sheets, eventually giving up trying to fold them back neatly and just hurling them to the floor with a grunt. “Why don’t you let me do all the work this round?” he suggests with a wink.

For a moment Hannibal’s sleep-fogged brain isn’t entirely sure what Face might mean – a brief glance at the clock shows him it’s barely three in the morning – but then he is blessed with the gorgeous and erotic sight of his husband swinging one leg up and over to straddle him, hands braced on Hannibal’s shoulders as he shuffles himself awkwardly into position with some considerable effort.

Thank goodness Hannibal hadn’t had the energy left to get dressed before he’d fallen into an exhausted sleep earlier that night. That means he doesn’t have to waste time trying to strip now. Instead, his hands come up instinctively to rest on Face’s hips, thumbs stroking gently over the vivid stretchmarks on the sides of the swollen belly, guiding and supporting some of his husband’s weight as Face lowers himself into place, unerringly spearing himself on Hannibal’s waiting erection. 

Face is still open and slick from their several earlier rounds of love-making, and the two of them groan in unison now as he sinks down, the added weight of their baby making their coupling harder and faster than it would have been once upon a time. Hannibal bites his tongue as his cock is suddenly surrounded in warm, tight heat, Face’s own cock pressed between the flat of Hannibal’s stomach and the bulge of his own.

“Oh god, right there.” Face throws his head back, exposing the long length of his neck and letting his mouth hang open as he gasps, “Fuck. That’s the spot.”

This position is incredible for both of them, but there really is little Hannibal can do to help. He keeps his hands on Face’s hips and simply stares up in wonder at the man who has put himself through so much in order to give them a child of their own, as Face pushes himself up a few inches before dropping back down, taking a breath before rising again and starting to ride Hannibal with a look of determination on his handsome features. 

Penetrative sex has become a never-ending challenge as Face’s body changes steadily, his stomach rounding outwards and his chest becoming tender to the touch, and Hannibal has never in his life been one to back down from a challenge. He’s poured his heart and soul into finding new ways to keep Face satisfied, particularly when Face has been utterly exhausted and yet still desperately needy. 

He’s taken Face from behind, and from the side, one hand cupped around the swell of their child. He’s pleasured Face with toys, with Face stretched out on his back or nestled in a sea of pillows, and he’s had Face in his lap on the sofa, and at the dining table, and on the bench in their yard.

But this position, with Face just using Hannibal to take his pleasure, shifting his hips until he finds the angle that makes him shout loudly with joy? This position, with Hannibal pinned to the bed beneath the weight of his husband and unborn child? 

This position is Hannibal’s absolute favourite, and as Face abruptly tenses above him before spurting his release hot and wet between their bellies, Hannibal suddenly finds his own release with a shout as the world whites out around him.


	17. Guessing

Face is convinced he’s carrying a girl, though of course he hates it when Hannibal teases him gently about his ‘mother’s instinct’. He talks about their little girl almost without conscious thought as he strokes his stomach, blaming her when he’s sick and dizzy before immediately apologising to her, and calling on her vote in order to outnumber Hannibal in any minor domestic dispute.

Though he hasn’t said it out loud, Hannibal knows Face thinks Hannibal wants a son. Face thinks Hannibal wants to play football with his boy, to raise a little soldier in their image, and to play rough and tumble in a way he wouldn’t dare with a little girl. Face jokes about it all quite casually on rare occasions, but Hannibal can tell his husband is genuinely a little nervous that Hannibal won’t love a little girl in the way he would love a little boy.

But the truth is, all Hannibal actually cares about is the health of his husband and their baby. Nothing else matters. 

Hannibal already loves their little one more than he’d ever imagined possible, almost as much as he loves Face, though not quite. He’s the luckiest man in the entire world.


	18. Weeping

Hannibal hates to admit it, but he’s at something of a loss. Face is the smooth talker, the man with the silver tongue who knows just what to say in any given situation. But right now Face is the one sobbing on the sofa for no obvious reason that Hannibal can see.

And Hannibal is terrified of saying the wrong thing.

Over the last few weeks, Face’s emotional highs and lows have grown ever more extreme and unpredictable. He might be laughing one moment then in floods of tears the next, and while Hannibal knows all it’s just the hormones messing with his husband’s system, he wishes with all his heart that he knew what to do or say. 

To make things a little more challenging, Face might well look as if he’s swallowed a beach ball – though Hannibal would never dare whisper that opinion out loud – but he’s still a Ranger through and through. Hannibal has had to duck more than one punch when he’s made the cardinal sin of asking Face what’s been wrong.

It might have been something on the news, or something Hannibal said several days ago without thinking. Yesterday, Face had spent nearly two hours crying on the floor because he couldn’t tie his shoelaces without help, just about breaking Hannibal’s heart. Last week, he’d wept so hard he’d made himself physically sick because of the beauty of a rainbow.

Right at that moment, Face is slumped into the corner of their long, over-stuffed sofa, one hand resting limply on the mound of his bump and the other rubbing his eyes. Hannibal can hear the tell-tale hitch in his breathing and can actually see the shine of tears streaming down flushed cheeks as Face sobs quietly, barely moving. 

In spite of the tears, and in spite of how uncomfortable Hannibal knows he must be, Face is still glowing. He is the most beautiful thing Hannibal has ever seen, especially now he is swollen large with Hannibal’s baby, but saying that out loud might not be the best idea right now.

At times like these, Hannibal decides, actions speak louder than words.

Deliberately making his footsteps a little louder than normal in an attempt to let Face know he’s there, Hannibal crosses the room and sits carefully at his husband’s side, keeping a deliberate inch of space between their bodies just in case.

He needn’t have been so cautious. Face immediately turns sideways and buries his head in Hannibal’s chest, his bulging stomach pressing awkwardly into Hannibal’s side and one leg swinging up over Hannibal’s knee. “I hate you for this,” Face sobs, though the somewhat desperate way he grasps hold of Hannibal’s shirt suggests otherwise. “I really mean it.”

Hannibal gently rests his hands on Face’s lower back, right where he knows the worst of the pain has been lately, and tries not to smile as he feels Face’s tears soaking through his shirt. “I know you do,” he whispers, knowing Face doesn’t mean it for even a second. “But I love you.”

Face just sobs even harder, and Hannibal settles in to hold his husband for as long as might be necessary.


	19. Fitting

“The doctors really didn’t think this through. There are no shops that make maternity clothes for men, because there are no other pregnant men!”

“I hear boyfriend-fit jeans are all the fashion these days – ”

“If you finish that sentence I’ll shoot you.”

“I’d like to see you try, sweetheart.”

“Seriously, though, what am I supposed to wear? Nothing fits any more, apart from my pyjamas.”

“Murdock is a dab hand with a sewing machine – ”

“You’ve got to be kidding!”

“You remember that ‘Flash’ costume he wore last Halloween? Made it himself.”

“…Can you imagine what he would make for me? I’d look even more of a freak than I already do.”

“You look gorgeous. You’re positively blooming. And how much harm could Murdock possibly do letting out your uniform pants?”

“Do you really want to find out?”

“It’s either that or wear your pyjamas to work. Or maybe you could take early leave – ” 

“Again, finish that sentence and I’ll shoot you.”


	20. Protecting

Hannibal knows he’s always felt protective over Face, since long before he put a ring on his man’s finger. Back when Face had first joined his unit, when he’d still been little more than a gangly teenager determined to prove himself to the world, Hannibal had instinctively wanted to make sure no harm came to such a brilliant, bright talent.

Face is a Ranger, of course, and over the years Face has proved time and again that he is more than capable of looking after himself. He’s also proved to be more than protective of Hannibal, too, going after anyone who dares to question one of Hannibal’s decisions with a fierceness that has even startled Hannibal at times.

But Hannibal has never felt more protective over Face than now, as the pregnancy moves into the third trimester and Face’s swollen belly somehow continues to grow. Face is a little slower and a lot heavier, easily exhausted and prone to headaches, and in addition his balance has become uncertain on occasion.

He has no doubt that Face could still take care of himself, but it’s Hannibal’s job to keep him safe and see that he has everything he could possibly need – blankets or fans, juice or snacks, a foot rub or a hot bath – particularly now Face has finally taken leave from work and is spending his days pottering around the house or resting.

That is, when they aren’t at the clinic.

The doctors are keeping an increasingly close eye on Face as their experiment continues, increasing their scans to twice a week along with more blood tests and booster injections. Hannibal feels at his most protective when Face is in their hands, though they are always gentle when they handle his aching body; Hannibal knows that, to the doctors and nurses, this is still an experiment first and foremost. They are thinking about developments in their fields of organ transplantation or fertility treatments and yes, they are also thinking about Face and the baby, but Hannibal knows in his guts that the science comes first for them.

He has a recurring nightmare, of a world where Face is held against his will, forced to undergo the experimental surgery and carry a child in his body with absolutely no choice in the matter. The doctors could do it, Hannibal has no doubt of that.

So every time the doctors start to get lost in the science, talking about ‘the host’ or ‘the subject’, Hannibal reminds them that their experiment has a name. Face. 

Every time they start to talk about their ‘ideal outcome’, he reminds them that their outcome is _his_ child. Hannibal’s baby girl or baby boy. Face’s baby, too, in every way that counts.

He doesn’t think the doctors would deliberately hurt Face or put their child at risk, but he won’t take that chance. For every second they are in the clinic, Hannibal stays glued to Face’s side, alert and on edge. He’ll protect Face from any threats that might come their way, even if those threats are only in Hannibal’s head.

But the fact that Face clings to his hand until the moment they step back out into the sunshine? That suggests that Hannibal isn’t the only one with nightmares.


	21. Preparing

“So, we obviously can’t go with pink or blue, since we don’t know the sex.” Hannibal stares again at the folder of colour swatches Murdock has somehow put together, as a surprise present for them. “And I don’t think white is a great idea.”

“I absolutely agree.” Face rubs both hands in circles over his full stomach, sinking back carefully into the cushions piled behind his back with a tiny wince. “I don’t like the idea of gender stereotyping anyway. Though she’s a girl, I’m sure of it.”

Hannibal choses to ignore that last comment, though secretly he loves how certain Face is. “What about something like this?” he suggests, finger hovering over one page of various shades from lilac and lavender through to the deepest darkest purple.

“A bit gothic, don’t you think?” Face frowns, reaching out and turning the page to reveal – “How about silver? Or gold?”

“A bit ornate, if you ask me.” Neither of them are particularly showy people, though Face has always had more upmarket tastes than Hannibal, with his wardrobe full of designer clothes for off-duty days. All non-maternity wear, of course, much to his continued and vocal annoyance.

Another page turn. “Green?”

Hannibal shudders. “Reminds me of hospitals”

“Yellow?”

“Reminds me of vomit. And I think we’ll see enough of that when the baby gets here.”

“Hannibal!” Face smacks him gently on the arm, though he sounds more amused than annoyed, and Hannibal playfully winces. “What options does that leave us with, then? We are not painting the nursery black!”

“There’s always red, white and blue,” Hannibal jokes, then ducks out of reach with a laugh as Face tries to smack him again. “Or, we could take Murdock up on his offer?”

Face sighs, sinking sideways to lean against Hannibal, who gathers him in carefully with an arm around his shoulders. His swollen belly presses against Hannibal’s side, and he can feel their energetic baby rolling around lazily beneath the taut skin. “We really should’ve decided this months ago,” Face says softly, and Hannibal resists the urge to point out that they’ve been talking about decorating the nursery since long before they even got the go-ahead for surgery. They’ve just never quite been able to agree.

They’re soldiers, not interior decorators.

“So, Murdock?” Hannibal suggests again, in all seriousness. Their crazy pilot has been dropping increasingly unsubtle hints about helping them decorate, while BA is on standby to help Hannibal build the crib and changing table, currently stored in the garage still in their boxes. “How bad could it be?”

Another soft sigh from Face, more thoughtful than before. “I guess,” he says eventually, though to Hannibal’s knowing ear he doesn’t sound entirely convinced. “It would be one less thing to worry about.”

Hannibal presses a gentle kiss to the crown of his husband’s curly head. “If we hate it, I can paint over it immediately,” he points out, and Face laughs at that, closing the folder of colours firmly with one hand and pushing it off Hannibal’s lap to land heavily on the floor.

“You make a most excellent point. You win, make the call.”

Murdock is, of course, over the moon when Hannibal phones him later that night, and he begins work the very next day. Hannibal doesn’t know quite how worried he should be when the pilot actually manages to fit a padlock to the door so neither he nor Face can sneak a glimpse at the work in progress, but BA has been allowed in while helping Murdock carry the numerous tins of paint, and he is surprisingly reassuring when Hannibal tentatively asks. 

“Don’t worry, boss.” The big guy pats Hannibal on the back as he leaves one night, nodding at Face who is watching curiously from the sofa. “Crazy fool isn’t going too crazy. Not yet, at least.”

In the end, it’s nearly two weeks before Murdock finally throws the nursery door wide open with a flourish and announces loudly, “It’s done!”

Hannibal takes Face by the hand to help him up from the sofa, then stays close behind him as his heavily pregnant husband moves carefully up the stairs. Face’s balance really hasn’t been great over the last few weeks, their baby sitting low and putting pressure on his hips, and the fact that he hasn’t pushed Hannibal away yet suggests he is grateful for the attention. 

“Is it wrong that I’m more nervous now than before I had the operation?” Face whispers as they climb, and Hannibal snorts softly with laughter.

“Remember, I can paint over it if you hate it,” he whispers back, but then they are there, BA and Murdock standing to one side to reveal – 

“Oh,” Face sighs happily, leaning back into Hannibal’s chest. “Guys, it’s perfect. Thank you.”

Hannibal can hardly believe his eyes. It is indeed perfect. He never would have thought of it. “It’s a jungle,” he says in awe, wrapping his arms around Face’s disappeared waist and cupping the enormous bump gently. “Murdock, you’ve outdone yourself. And BA, thank you. I can hardly believe this is the same room.” 

Their tiny little home office has been completely and utterly transformed. Bright blue sky and vivid green grass, trees complete with swinging monkeys and singing birds, a painted elephant leaning against the window. And all the nursery furniture is built, complete with jungle themed blankets and a whole brigade of stuffed jungle animals. There is even a rocking chair next to a bookcase, full to bursting with all the picture books they’ve been buying, with new additions that Hannibal hasn’t seen before.

“Hope you don’t mind,” BA speaks up from behind them. “Thought we might as well get it all in place for the three of you.”

“It’s absolutely perfect.” Hannibal can hardly speak for the lump in his throat. “Thank you, both of you. This is more than we could have ever asked for.”

“That’s what godfathers are for, right?” Murdock slips around them and into the nursery, looking a little nervous as he glances over at Face. “You really love it, Face-man?”

Face just nods wildly, tearing himself out of Hannibal’s hold and throwing his arms around Murdock’s neck.

This baby is certainly going to be spoiled, Hannibal suddenly realises with a grin, as BA steps up behind Face to add his own muscled arms to the embrace. And he pauses for only a moment before joining in himself.


	22. Nesting

At first, Hannibal thinks he’s imagining it. With the nursery completed, it’s only natural that there are more pillows and blankets around the house than ever before. And as Face’s stomach grows ever larger, his aches and pains far more intense, it’s only natural that he spends more time resting on those pillows and snuggled in those blankets. 

Then, it starts to manifest in other ways. Face has always been a tidy person, just as Hannibal is; as soldiers, it’s been ingrained into them for many, many years. But now, he’ll suddenly climb awkwardly out of his pillows to start reorganising their wardrobe, or refolding all the baby clothes in the nursery, for no obvious reason Hannibal can see.

One evening, Face spends an hour cleaning the kitchen work surfaces, when they weren’t dirty to begin with, waving off Hannibal’s offers of help. Then he mops the bathroom floor over and over again one morning, before collapsing into bed at noon and sleeping for nearly three hours. The house is vacuumed from top to bottom, the skirting boards scrubbed, and the DVDs filed alphabetically. 

At least Face seems to know he’s acting a little unusually. “Please don’t ask me,” he begs Hannibal weakly, as he rearranges the picture books in the nursery for the third time that day. “I just need to do this. I don’t even know why.”

The faint sheen of tears in Face’s beautiful baby blue eyes tells Hannibal enough. He simply kisses Face on the forehead and quietly closes the nursery door behind him as he leaves Face to nest in peace.


	23. Yearning

“I honestly think I’d kill for a beer right now.” 

“We’ve got that alcohol-free brand, if you fancy?”

“That’s not beer. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not beer.”

“Only a few more weeks, sweetheart, then you can have that beer. And I can have a cigar.”

“I never once said you had to quit smoking, y’know. I just asked you not to smoke around _me_ while I’m pregnant.”

“If you can’t have a beer then I can’t smoke. Fair’s fair.”

“No, _fair_ would’ve been if you’d quit drinking alongside me. Rather than sipping that perfectly frosty bottled beer right in front of me on the hottest day of the year.”

“…I could go and drink it outside?”


	24. Failing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember those tags? Remember that 'Angst and Hurt/Comfort' one in particular?
> 
> Just thought I should give you a heads-up that things get a little more serious here...

Perhaps it had all been going just a little bit too well. Hannibal had prided himself in paying vigilant attention to how Face had been coping as he approached his seventh month of pregnancy, and of course he’d noticed the increased exhaustion and how uncomfortable Face had become as he developed a definite waddle in his step. But Face really _had_ seemed to be coping, still smiling and still glowing, caressing the swell of his stomach and willingly taking things easy whenever he could.

Now, everything has changed in the blink of an eye, and Hannibal feels his heart might beat clean out his chest with fear. The medical staff are hovering nearby, each of them wearing a carefully constructed mask that barely hides their own growing sense of panic as they keep a close watch on their ‘experiment’, though the little room in the heart of the clinic is calm and quiet besides the soft beeping of monitors.

Face is asleep, as he has been for the last few hours, the peaceful eye at the centre of the storm threatening to tear Hannibal’s world apart. He is curled on his left side, his heavily pregnant body supported by numerous pillows and swaddled in warm blankets, dark shadows beneath his closed eyes and his hair lying flat and greasy on the pillow. 

There are so many wires and cables snaking beneath Face’s blankets that Hannibal is almost scared to touch his husband at all for fear of disturbing one. Heart monitors, IV lines, a catheter, a pulse-ox monitor clipped to his finger. A whole bundle of cables Hannibal knows are connected to a wide band wrapped tightly around Face’s distended stomach, keeping a close watch on their baby. 

Face may be struggling physically, but at least the doctors say their baby is still thriving. 

“Why don’t you go home and get some rest?” A gentle hand comes to rest on Hannibal’s shoulder, though he doesn’t startle. He’d heard the doctor step inside the room several minutes ago. “We’ll look after him, I promise. He’s stable and comfortable now, and we’ll call you if anything changes.”

Hannibal shakes his head once. He’ll sleep in the chair if he has to, but there’s no force on earth that can tear him away from Face tonight. “Stable?” he asks, his voice rough from the tears he’s been choking back since Face collapsed in their yard earlier this morning. “What about his kidneys? The nurse mentioned you were still concerned. And his heart, you said…?” His voice fails him entirely, and he can only shake his head again, staring at Face’s loosely closed eyes and the dark circles beneath them.

“We’ll keep a close eye on his urine output, Hannibal, and if necessary we can put him on dialysis, though I don’t think it will come to that.” The doctor walks around to stand at the end of Face’s bed, her eyes focussed on Hannibal rather than on her patient. “And his pulse is much stronger already, he’s reacting very well to the medication.”

“And that won’t harm the baby?”

“No, it’s quite safe, as I explained earlier.” She pauses, and Hannibal’s own heart stutters in his chest as he guesses what she’s about to say. He doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to even _contemplate_ it, but, sure enough – “In the worst case scenario, if Face continues to grow weaker, we can actually deliver the baby now. At 29 weeks gestation the baby is certainly viable, though of course there may be complications and – ”

“No.”

The single whispered word of protest comes from Face, and Hannibal lurches to his feet to lean over the bed as washed-out blue eyes blink halfway open. “Stay still, sweetheart,” he urges desperately, stroking one hand through Face’s hair. “You need to lie still.”

“Don’t let them take her,” Face whispers, reaching out with a shaking hand that Hannibal immediately clasps loosely in his own. Face’s skin is far too cold despite the thickness of the blankets. “It’s too soon.”

“Face, if there’s no other choice – ” 

“Save her, if it comes down to a choice between her or me. Promise me, John.”

Hannibal’s eyes blur with tears, his throat too closed up to speak. He wants this baby so very much, _loves_ this baby so very much already, but not if the cost is Face himself. If he has to make that decision, if the impossible comes to pass, he knows he will choose Face every single time. 

“Please,” Face whispers weakly, eyes fluttering shut helplessly as his fingers go limp in Hannibal’s grip, the doctor still watching the two of them silently and sadly from the foot of the bed. “If you love me, promise me you’ll save her.”

But Hannibal simply can’t make a promise he knows he will break in a heartbeat, and Face is asleep once more before the first tears finally slip from Hannibal’s eyes.


	25. Naming

“I’d like it to mean something,” Face suddenly breathes, opening his eyes halfway when Hannibal had honestly thought he’d drifted back to sleep, midway through their conversation. “If that makes any sense?”

Hannibal squeezes Face’s hand gently, reassuringly. “I think I know what you’re getting at, sweetheart.”

“So we can agree to throw Murdock’s list of suggestions out of the window, right?” Face manages to crack a weak grin, and Hannibal can’t help but smile back at him, though he wishes with all his heart that they were having this conversation at home rather than in this tiny room deep in the clinic, this room which has become their home now and will remain so until the end of Face’s pregnancy.

“Agreed.” Hannibal is secretly glad Face feels that way about their friend’s generous suggestions. He could never call his child Zadok or Thor or Otter, or anything taken from either ‘Game of Thrones’ or ‘Lord of the Rings’. Those names might work for some people, but they just wouldn’t work for him, and thankfully it sounds like they wouldn’t work for Face either. “So, do you have any ideas? And do you mean you want the name to have a good definition, or – ?”

“No, I want it to mean something to one of us.” Face blinks heavily, a slight shiver running through his body, and Hannibal leans over to tug the blankets a little higher, careful not to disturb the heart monitor or IV lines. Face is doing so much better, but he’s still very weak. 

“Like a family name?” he asks, settling back into his chair and taking hold of Face’s hand again. “Or naming them after someone we know? Someone who matters to us?”

Face smiles again, a little stronger now, as he closes his fingers around Hannibal’s as tightly as he can. “Exactly,” he whispers, blue eyes sparkling. “And we need to decide on both boys names and girls names, just in case. Though I really believe she’s a girl.”

Like choosing the colour of the nursery, this is a conversation they’ve been having over and over again since long before Face became pregnant, though it feels more imminent now. More urgent. Face is stable and comfortable enough, if weak and exhausted, but they are both very aware that the doctors might choose to deliver their baby any day now if his condition takes another turn for the worse. 

Every moment feels like borrowed time.

“I do have one idea,” Hannibal says slowly, oddly nervous. He hasn’t mentioned this name before, for fear of Face hating it, but it’s now or never. “If it really is a girl, how about Emily?”

“Emily.” Face closes his eyes loosely, taking a deep breath. “After your Mom.”

Hannibal suddenly feels a little choked. He doesn’t remember ever telling Face about his long-deceased parents, but of course his husband knows. He steels himself. “Yes, after my Mom. What d’you think?”

A pause, then – “I love it. Emily Smith.”

“Emily Peck-Smith,” Hannibal corrects gently, and Face smiles briefly. “But as for boys’ names, I have to say I think there are enough ‘John Smiths’ in the world.” Hannibal is technically ‘John Smith Junior’, and as much as he loved his father he doesn’t particularly feel an urge to pass on his name to the next generation.

“Hmm.” Hannibal isn’t sure whether Face’s soft exhalation is an agreement or just a thoughtful little noise, but after a moment’s silence Face suddenly says, “I thought about David, maybe. Or Russell, if you liked.”

Russ would be proud and honoured, Hannibal knows, and he’s been nothing but supportive during this entire experiment. But then he thinks of Face’s mentor, the elderly priest who had been his husband’s one constant throughout the shifting landscapes of his childhood, and he just _knows_. “I think David would be absolutely perfect.” 

Face breathes a tiny sigh, his smile growing a fraction wider though his eyes remain closed, and Hannibal abruptly realises that perhaps Face had been as nervous mentioning his mentor’s name as Hannibal had been suggesting his mother’s. 

“So we have either an Emily or a David.” Face’s voice is barely audible, and Hannibal knows it won’t be long before he falls asleep now, his overtaxed body craving rest. “And we’ll meet them soon. We’re so nearly there.”


	26. Fantasising

“Do you think they’ll want to become a soldier one day?” Hannibal asks, his quiet question seeming somehow too loud in the tiny enclosed courtyard behind Face’s room. “To follow in our footsteps?”

They’re so close. Face’s official due date is barely two weeks away now, and Hannibal has moved into the clinic in order to be by his side every moment of every day. It finally feels real, in a way it somehow hasn’t until this point, and they are both allowing themselves to give voice to their privately-held dreams.

“Maybe,” Face answers thoughtfully, his voice stronger than Hannibal has heard it in weeks. The doctors and nurses have been taking good care of him and their unborn baby, and near-total bed rest has helped enormously, to the point where Hannibal has been allowed to help his heavily pregnant husband into a wheelchair and bring him outside into the sun. “Or maybe she’ll be a dancer. Or an artist.”

Hannibal smiles, squeezing Face’s hand where he holds it in his lap. “ _He_ could be a musician,” he muses. “A lawyer. A doctor.”

“A writer, or a teacher, maybe.” Face suddenly gasps, pressing his free hand to his bulging belly, quickly reassuring Hannibal, “I’m okay, I’m okay. She’s just kicking me again. Or punching me. I’m not sure which.”

“Our little fighter.” Hannibal leans over to kiss Face gently, hoping to distract him from the momentary pain. “He or she wants out of there, I think. Must be a bit cramped by this point.” Face’s stomach looks about fit to burst, and Hannibal can’t even imagine how uncomfortable his husband must feel.

“I’m ready for them to be out of there, too,” Face confesses in a whisper, though he has a tiny smile on his lips as he rubs careful circles over his belly, shifting awkwardly in the wheelchair and squeezing Hannibal’s hand almost painfully tightly. “I’m about done with being pregnant now. I want my body back.” 

“But no regrets?” Hannibal has to ask the question, though he’s positive he knows the answer, and sure enough Face’s answer is swift and decisive. 

“Not a single one. In fact, I’ve been thinking, maybe…” Face tails off mid-sentence, shaking his head and biting his lower lip nervously.

Hannibal gives him a moment before prompting, curiously, “Maybe what?”

A long silence, then Face glances across at Hannibal out of the corner of his eye, before finally continuing. “One day, maybe, if we decided this little one needed a baby brother or sister, then maybe I…” A one-shouldered shrug. “Y’know. Maybe.”

Oh. Wow. Hannibal hadn’t dared hope, though perhaps he might have dreamed. “Let’s see how we cope with just the one first,” he eventually replies, a huge grin splitting his face, sliding his arm around his husband’s shoulders to tug him as close as he can. “But I do like the sound of that. Only if the doctors say it’s okay, though. Only if it’s safe for you.”

“I’m talking about a few years down the line, John. Not next month.”

“By next month we’ll be parents.” It seems crazy when Hannibal says it out loud. “Changing diapers and heating bottles of milk. Singing lullabies and reading bedtime stories.”

“First steps. First words. First day at kindergarten.” Face sighs happily, dropping his head sideways onto Hannibal’s shoulder, his position awkward given the wheelchair and the bulk of his stomach though he clearly wants to be close. “First day at high school. Prom.”

“Picnics and family holidays,” Hannibal picks up the thread, swept up in a vision of the life he will have with Face and their children. It’s a life he’s always dreamed of, though he can barely believe it’s within reach. “Teaching them to ride a bike. Having a dog, or a cat, maybe. Or both.”

“Oh, both, definitely.” Face pauses, then, so softly Hannibal can barely hear, “Walking her down the aisle on her wedding day.” 

The very thought is utterly breath-taking, and heart-breaking at the same time. They haven’t even met their little girl or boy yet. Hannibal isn’t even remotely ready to think about giving them away.

“Oh, the places you’ll go,” he says instead, feeling oddly choked, and Face laughs, correcting him gently.

“No, love. The places _we’ll_ go.”


	27. Anticipating

“I love you so much,” Hannibal whispers into the darkness of their little room in the clinic, spooned up close behind Face, his arms cupped around the heavy bump which holds their unborn baby. He can barely close his arms now around the circle of Face’s waist, a far cry from where they started all those months ago. “Have I told you that lately?”

Face laughs softly. “Only a thousand times today,” he teases, and Hannibal smiles.

“Only a thousand? Then I’ve not been doing my job properly, sweetheart.” Hannibal nuzzles into the soft hair on Face’s nape, breathing in as deeply as he can. Underneath the scent of antiseptic and sterile hospital soap, he can still smell something essentially _Face_ , something sweet and spicy and perfect. 

Face shifts backwards a fraction, pressing his back into Hannibal’s chest as much as he possibly can. “I love you too,” he whispers. “And tomorrow we’ll finally become parents. I can hardly believe it’s been nine months already.”

Tomorrow will indeed be the day, one way or another. Face is two days overdue now, and while that may not be much, the doctors are wary of letting him continue with the pregnancy any longer than he has to, even though he’s stronger and more stable than he has been for weeks. If Face doesn’t go into labour himself by mid-morning, they’ve decided they’ll induce him.

Better safe than sorry, after all.

Hannibal lifts his head from the pillows just enough to press a kiss to Face’s temple, rubbing one hand in gentle circles over the enormous swell of their baby. “You’ve been incredible,” he tells his husband, trying his hardest to pour all his love and pride into his words. “So brave, and so strong. So beautiful.”

“So fat,” Face breathes with another tiny laugh, sliding his own hand down to hold Hannibal’s tightly in place over his admittedly huge belly. 

“So stunning,” Hannibal corrects immediately. “You’ll be an amazing Dad.”

“And you’ll be an amazing Papa. I really do love you so much.”

They lapse into a comfortable, expectant silence, knowing neither of them will sleep much but each of them content just to be close.

Tomorrow. Their lives will change forever tomorrow, and Hannibal simply can’t wait.


	28. Delivering

It happens quickly, in the end. Nine long months and it’s over in minutes.

Well, not quite minutes, though it almost seems that way when Hannibal looks back afterwards. Face wakes with a sudden shout of pain in the early hours of the morning, startling Hannibal so much that he falls out of bed in his haste to summon help. Face is a solider, and he’s been hurt before, but Hannibal has never seen the love of his life in such agony as during the long two hours he suffers contractions before the doctors finally take him through for his C-section. 

Apparently the contractions are good for their baby’s lungs, though Hannibal just focusses on trying to soothe Face, patting his forehead with a cool cloth and helping him remember his breathing exercises. Trying not to flinch when Face screams out every swear word he’s ever learned, in more than a dozen languages, cursing Hannibal himself to hell and back again. Trying not to scream himself when Face squeezes his hand so tightly Hannibal fears he may now have a few broken bones.

Then, in the blink of an eye, they are in the surgical suite, with Face drugged to the highest heavens and giggling rather than screaming. Blue drapes, blue scrubs for Hannibal, and Hannibal keeps his eyes on his husband’s face rather than watching the doctors as they work. He’s seen more than enough blood during his time at war; he has no desire to watch Face being cut open.

He and Face just smile at each other, Hannibal stroking his hand gently over Face’s forehead, and tune out the soft murmur of conversation from the busy team around them. But suddenly there is a sharp high-pitched cry, piercing the air, and the two of them gasp at the same moment.

Hannibal turns quickly to see their doctor already holding a tiny, blanket-wrapped bundle towards him, and he leans closer, mesmerised.

A pink, squashed face. Bright blue eyes, wide open already, staring up at him. 

He’s head over heels in love already, tears of joy streaming down his face, before the doctor says softly, “Would you like to hold your daughter, Hannibal?”


	29. Parenting

“She looks like you,” Face whispers with a tired smile, clearly unable to tear his eyes away from their baby girl, who is sleeping peacefully and cradled safely in his arms. “She has your nose.”

“Oh, I very much hope that’s not true.” Hannibal has always hated his nose, though Face has repeatedly told him how much he loves it. 

Face laughs very softly, still utterly entranced by their daughter, and shifts carefully on his mountain of pillows. “She’s her Papa’s girl alright.”

_Emily_. Hannibal can hardly believe she’s really here at last, after so many months of anticipation.

Ten pound two ounces, with bright blue eyes, long eyelashes, and the faintest wisps of light brown hair on her tiny head. A calm baby, so far, and curious, though maybe that’s a touch of wishful thinking. When she grips Hannibal’s finger in her tiny fist, he knows he would die rather than ever let anyone hurt her.

She’s absolutely perfect, in every possible way.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, taking in the dark circles under his husband’s eyes and the pallor of his skin. Four days after his caesarean, and Face is finally returning to the land of the living, still doped up on painkillers and hooked up to IVs of fluids. He’d gone into shock after Emily’s birth, unfocussed eyes slipping suddenly closed just as Hannibal held their daughter in his arms for the first time, and he’s been slow to recover after the voluntary trauma his body has been through over the last nine months.

Hannibal himself has spent the last four days on a rollercoaster of emotions, equal parts petrified and over-the-moon. He’s been worried sick for Face, though the doctors have been nothing but reassuring, even as he’s been falling head over heels in love with Emily at the very same time.

Finally being able to pass their daughter into his husband’s arms has felt like the single greatest achievement of Hannibal’s life.

Now, rather than answer Hannibal, Face just smiles again in his hospital bed as he strokes Emily’s cheek very carefully with one finger, hypnotised as he watches her continue to sleep. And Hannibal just has to smile in return at the beautiful picture they make, his handsome husband and his gorgeous baby girl.

Still, he worries, and eventually he asks again, “Face, please. How’s the pain?”

Face glances up at him briefly from beneath his long eyelashes, before looking back down at Emily. “You worry too much,” he whispers, but Hannibal shakes his head.

“That’s not an answer, sweetheart.”

“I’m fine.” Without even looking up, Face must somehow sense Hannibal’s doubtful frown, as he continues quickly, “Honestly, whatever they’re giving me for the pain is working. I’m not hurting. I’m absolutely exhausted, and even the thought of getting out of bed makes me want to sleep for a year, but I’m not in pain, I promise. And anyway, all the pain has absolutely been worth it.”

Thank goodness for that. Face does indeed look exhausted, but there is truly no hint of pain in his shining eyes, and Hannibal can breathe a small sigh of relief for the first time in days. Face’s stomach is still swollen, of course, though far less so than before the C-section, and the doctors are planning to keep him in for at least another week of observation. They warn that there may be withdrawal symptoms from some of the hormones and medications, and, as always, their key phrase is ‘better safe than sorry’. Their experiment isn’t quite over yet.

Hannibal doesn’t mind. He is staying in the clinic too, in a small room close by with Emily sleeping in a bassinet by his bedside, getting used to the initial shock of parenthood. Heating up bottles, changing diapers, and snatched moments of broken sleep pierced by sudden cries. They’ll all go home together, the three of them, when Face is strong enough, and begin their new life in the real world as a family.

For now, Emily sighs softly in her sleep, wriggling her tiny nose, and Hannibal watches as Face instinctively cradles her closer still. “Is she waking up?” Hannibal asks, leaning forwards in his chair. “She’s due a feed soon.”

“No, I think she’s good.” Face wrinkles his own nose a little. “Though I think we may have another situation brewing. Gosh. That’s a particularly powerful scent for such a little girl.”

Oh, the joys and delights of parenthood. Hannibal leans over the bed and tries to breathe through his mouth as he and Face share a tender kiss. He caresses Emily’s few fine strands of hair before lifting her carefully from Face’s sheltering arms, as gently as if he was handling the most sensitive grenade, and settles her against his chest just as she starts to grumble.

“You look good like that,” Face tells Hannibal, blinking up at them both with a tired yet bright smile. “Papa Hannibal.”

“I’m the luckiest man in the world,” Hannibal replies, almost without thinking, and, as if on cue, Emily blinks open her baby blue eyes and seems to smile up at him. Hannibal knows it’s not a true smile, not yet, but his heart melts into a thousand pieces all the same. “Hello there, beautiful. And thank you, Templeton. Or I guess I should say, Dad?”

When there is no answer, Hannibal glances up to see that Face has fallen asleep once again, his smile still in place though his lips are parted ever so slightly. Leaving him to his much-needed rest, Hannibal stands as carefully as he can and moves towards the changing table, switching his focus back to their daughter. 

She seems so tiny in his arms, this unexpected and undeserved gift. Not bad for an old soldier, Hannibal can’t help thinking, still amazed at how his life has turned out. At one point he’d given up on ever finding love, then Face appeared out of nowhere. He’d never truly believed he would have children of his own, then the doctors found a way to help Face bring Emily into their family.

There will be numerous challenges ahead of them, Hannibal knows. There will be good days and bad days, but with Face at his side and Emily to love and protect and nurture, he is certain above all things that they will always be happy.


	30. Dreaming

Face wakes with a sudden gasp, trembling all over as the dream slips quickly away from him, trickling through his desperate fingers like water. Blinking into the darkness of his prison cell. 

Weighted down with a rolling, tumbling, kicking _creature_ in his swollen stomach.

Hips and spine screaming in agony, bladder screaming for release, cock screaming for attention.

Imprisoned in a hell which he could never have imagined, from which there seems no escape.

Experimented on time and time and time again, with no permission sought, and no apology offered. 

Tortured, even.

Without realising it, there are tears streaming down his face. It was a beautiful dream, but that’s all it was: just a dream. A fantasy of what might have been, in another world. This nightmarish reality has to end soon. He wants her out, wants his body back, wants his life back.

Things could have been so very different. In that other world, Hannibal might have asked Face, and in that other world, Face would have done anything and everything for the man he loved. They could have had a family together. They could have been so happy.

That won’t happen now. It _can’t_. Face wants nothing to do with Hannibal, nor with the squirming baby he’s been forced to carry within his body. She means nothing to him. Less than nothing.

But still, if Hannibal had asked.

If Hannibal had asked, Face would have said yes.


End file.
